Childhood Dreams
by Purple Shamrock 17
Summary: Oneshot. Complete. After an abducted girl is rescued and returned to her parents, John notices a change in his best friend and flatmate. How strange then, that he should find the answers (or just more questions) in a worn copy of "Peter Pan". First Sherlock fic.


**Author's Note: Hello, fellow Sherlockians! This is my first fanfic for Sherlock. I'm a fan of anything Sherlock Holmes and this modern update-which I was skeptical of at first-is awesome while giving a nod to the Doyle original.**

**Anyway, this story was inspired by KCS's "I Do Believe" fic but I see this taking place way after the events of "The Reichenbach Fall". So I hope you enjoy and please review!**

**Huge thanks to springfieldbluebird for the editing and wonderful comments!**

Childhood Dreams

It was only three days after the Morgan abduction case was officially closed that John began to worry about his flatmate. It was an overcast day with no new clients bringing cases to unravel or puzzles for the consulting detective to solve. The only sounds in the flat were the ticking of the clock and John's tapping at his laptop keyboard.

With the minimal noise becoming almost unbearable, John glanced over the top of his laptop to see Sherlock sitting in his usual chair with his fingers steepled under his chin. He had not moved from that position in two whole days. He also hadn't eaten or drunk anything, preferring to text madly away at his phone. Now, it sat silent beside him on the armrest while Sherlock gazed into space.

It was unnerving, to say the least as these were all signs that Sherlock was in deep concentration. But they weren't on a case. They had just solved one quite successfully, in fact. So John could only conclude that their most recent case had affected Sherlock somehow.

Finally, the doctor side of him yelling in protest at Sherlock's current state, John decided to confront his flatmate.

"Was there another kidnapping?" John asked as he shut the lid of his laptop.

"Of course not, John. Heather Morgan was successfully returned to her parents," said Sherlock.

"So, you're going solo, are you?" John asked, as he sat down across from him, a cup of tea in his hand.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're doing the look that says you're thinking hard about something. Has Lestrade sent a case that you're going to just figure out on your own?"

"No, nothing new. I was-" He was interrupted by a beep from his phone, signaling that he had another text. John rolled his eyes and sipped his tea.

"Is that the same person you've been texting for the past two days?" John asked.

"Yes, John. Being kept in dark cellar for a week, going through god-knows-what sorts of physical and emotional abuse will certainly have an affect on the mind of a seven-year-old girl," said Sherlock, as he set his phone aside.

John stared. "You gave your mobile number to Heather Morgan?"

"Yes, I did. She's been sending me updates on her condition."

"So for the past three days, you've been talking to a seven-year-old."

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yeah, actually. Because you're you."

Sherlock smiled. "Well, I admit that while I don't usually associate with children. This case has had...an affect on me as well."

"It's called caring, Sherlock," said John. "It's what the rest of us usually feel when a child is hurt." He paused as he took another sip of tea. "So, how is she?"

"Well. And she wants us to meet her in Kensington Gardens."

"What?" said John. "Why? Isn't that where she was abducted?"

"I have no idea why and no, not exactly. She was abducted near the park," said Sherlock as he stood and slipped his phone into his pocket.

John shook his head as he finished off the rest of his tea and got up to fetch his coat.

* * *

A light rain was falling as they walked through the park. John couldn't remember the last time he had been in Kensington Gardens, which was saying something as Sherlock seemed determined to drag him to every corner of London. Yet it seemed to resemble every other park in London: same tree-lined walking paths and large grassy areas for picnicking.

There were few people walking along the path, no doubt due to the rain. The emptiness of the park made John shiver and it was not wholly due to the chill in the air. He pulled his coat more tightly around him and quickened his pace to catch up with Sherlock's long stride. Although he was curious about his friend's behavior, he would have much preferred to learn the full story back in their warm rooms in Baker Street.

Before John could ask how much longer however, Sherlock stopped and smiled, murmuring. "Just as I thought." John followed his gaze and saw a little girl wearing a royal blue coat and matching hat. She was sitting on the two steps that led up to the statue of Peter Pan.

"Hello, Heather," said Sherlock, as he strode forward.

The girl looked up and her smile at the sight of him seemed to light up her face. Then, she leapt to her feet and much to John's surprise, ran to Sherlock and threw her arms around his waist. Sherlock looked momentarily stunned at the sudden action but he nevertheless returned the hug, albeit with much less enthusiasm.

"I knew you'd come, Mr. Holmes. I just knew it!" said Heather, as she let go of him. Then she spied John standing a few feet away and waved to him. "Hello, Dr. Watson!"

"Hello, Heather. How have you been?" John asked, as she ran over to him and he knelt down to her level.

"Okay."

"Is your mum here?"

In reply, the girl pointed over to a bench several feet away where a brown-haired woman sat with a cup of coffee in one hand. John recognized her as Heather's mother and she waved to him when he caught her eye.

"Aren't you scared to be out here again?" John asked, turning back to Heather.

"No, the bad man can't get me anymore," said Heather. "And Mr. Holmes said I could text him whenever I was scared or had a bad dream."

"And you have," said Sherlock, with a small smile.

"Was I annoying you?" Heather asked, looking up at him. "Mummy said not to bother you too much. She said I should've talked more to the special doctor."

"No, you didn't bother me at all, Heather," said Sherlock. "That's why I gave you my mobile number. Now what was it you wanted to speak with me about?"

"I have a present for you!" said Heather and she ran back to the steps to retrieve her backpack and pulled out a worn paperback book. John saw that it was a copy of Peter Pan. When they (or more correctly, Sherlock) had rescued her, Heather had refused to part with the book, even to be examined by a paramedic. As John watched, Heather ran back and held the book out to Sherlock, looking very pleased with herself.

"Heather, are you sure?" asked Sherlock, taking the book and glancing at the cover.

"Uh-huh," she said with an affirmative nod. " 'Cause you came through the window just like Peter Pan." She paused when Sherlock made no reply. His face was oddly expressionless. "Don't you like it?" she asked.

In reply, he crouched down to her and gave her a one-armed hug. "Yes, Heather. I like it very much."

* * *

Whatever explanation John had been expecting for their strange trip, he didn't get it. As soon as they returned to their flat, Sherlock flopped down onto the couch and hid himself behind Heather's book. John busied himself with updating his blog and checking the cabinets for any spoiled food. He was just starting to get bored when Sherlock laid the book aside and laced his fingers together underneath his chin.

"Well, did you sort it all out?" John asked.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him. "Sort what out?"

"The clues in the book," John answered. "She must've written something about what happened to her."

"Actually, she didn't," said Sherlock. "There isn't even so much as an underlined sentence."

"Then why did you spend two hours reading it?"

"Because I wanted to."

John stared. "You _read_ the book? From beginning to end?"

"Yes, John. That is usually how one reads a book. It also happens to be one that I quite enjoyed as a child."

Now John could have sworn his eyes popped out of his head. "It was? But it's about fairies and imagination and-and illogical stuff like that!"

"It's also about an incredibly arrogant boy who does whatever he wants, no matter what anyone says," said Sherlock. He glanced over at John, adding, "Sound like anyone you know?"

John said nothing.

"I thought so," said Sherlock.

"It explains a lot, though," John added as he sat down across from his friend. "Your brother told me that initially. you wanted to be a pirate."

"I won't deny it. Of course, now I'm the one catching the pirates who steal children in the night."

John smiled at that. He was about to ask more directly why it was one of his favorite books when Sherlock spoke softly. "It is also quite a tragedy."

"Oh, come off it," John scoffed. "It's a kid's book. Captain Hook gets eaten by the crocodile and Peter and Wendy are safe."

"And Wendy leaves Neverland and can't ever return as she had before," Sherlock continued, seemingly ignoring John. "Much like our young Miss Morgan."

"Now you're trying to read into something that isn't there," said John. "She probably read it all the time to cope with what was happening to her. What other connection is there?"

"Nothing really, as far as why she was taken," Sherlock admitted. "But, it means everything for what will happen to her from now on. And why she kept texting me."

"Yeah, about that. Why did she text you?"

"It's just as Heather said. I was Peter rescuing Wendy from Hook and I allowed her to maintain that image. Along with reassuring her that Hook would never harm her again."

"Okay, that's nice and all, especially for you. But I still don't get how this book could be one of your favorites when you were a kid."

"Perhaps you should read it again, John," said Sherlock. He threw the book across the room and John managed to catch it before it hit the floor. "You might learn something now that you won't read it through a child's eyes." He paused and then added, "Then again, your mind is so average that you still might read it that way."

John rolled his eyes at that but opened the book nonetheless, intent on reacquainting himself with the classic tale. He heard Sherlock get up from the couch and begin to play his violin, the notes so soft that John wondered if he was playing an actual song at all.

John couldn't remember the last time he had read Peter Pan, so it was a treat to read it again. He thoroughly enjoyed the story, despite being more aware of Peter's cockiness which lent itself to his cruelty. Still, John read on. He didn't notice anything unusual until he came to the chapter in which Hook tried to poison Peter and he saw that several lines had a little mark beside them. They seemed to have been deliberate so John read the following with a close eye:

_Sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of the other boys. For hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them. They had to do, I think, with the riddle of his existence._

At the unsettling words, John glanced up at Sherlock to find him standing in front of the window, still playing his violin. Did Sherlock have nightmares too? Had he had them as a child? For all that he knew of Sherlock Holmes, John did not know much about his childhood and nor did he really want to. He sensed that it had been quite a turbulent one, going by what he saw from Sherlock's current relationship with his brother. Besides, if he had ever dared to ask anything about his friend's childhood—either what had happened between Sherlock and his brother or anything else—John knew he wouldn't receive a simple answer or explanation. So he continued reading and it was only when he put the book down that the violin fell silent and Sherlock spoke.

"Innocence, John, is a beautiful thing," he said quietly without turning away from the window. "Something that was lost all too quickly in Heather. She won't realize it, not for a while anyway. Strange then, that according to Barrie, we have to be heartless to maintain it."

"Well, you'd have to be heartless to leave your family and go off with Peter Pan," John replied.

At his words, Sherlock turned away from the window to look at him, a small smile on his lips. "A bit like our own partnership, don't you think?"

Then he looked away and resumed playing his melancholy song, leaving John to realize how very right he was.

Author's Note: As weird as this may seem to believe, but Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and J.M. Barrie were friends and they even wrote a comic opera together. So I thought why not bring Peter Pan into the modern context of Sherlock? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and please review!


End file.
